


Not Everyone Sees It

by alkjira



Series: Beauty [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hopeful Ending, Insecure Thorin, M/M, Oblivious Bilbo, Stupid Beauty Standards, Woobie, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Already as a child Thorin learnt that he was not what anyone would call attractive, much less beautiful.</em> </p><p>(Thorin is ugly. Discuss.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Everyone Sees It

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda the kindred spirit story to this one
> 
> [In the Eye of the Beholder](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1022058)
> 
> They’re not set in the same universe or anything, but to me they seem connected. Kinda the same theme. 
> 
> Not sure how to tag this, but move forward knowing that Thorin is not thinking highly of himself, and if you want any other tags just poke me.

Already as a child Thorin learnt that he was not what anyone would call attractive, much less beautiful.  
  
It was plain to see when comparing himself to his siblings and peers. Too tall, too thin, features a little too delicate. And it was even more obvious when others compared him to his siblings because they always found him wanting.  
  
Everyone agreed that Dís and Frerin would break hearts as they got older, but the highest praise Thorin ever rated was a promise for the future. How he was sure to grow up big and strong like his father and mother, he just needed to wait for it to happen.  
  
Thorin waited and pretended not to hear those who snickered behind their hands and called him Elf.  
  
Eventually, things did get a little better.  
  
As he got older he did manage to fill out, and being tall became an advantage during swords practice. But his face remained the same, and no matter how much he trained or ate, he never got the body his cousins' had; Dwalin broad and solid muscle, and Glóin very much the same but with the additional bonus of a pleasing softness around his middle. Thorin's waist was much too narrow, and that his shoulders were wide enough only made his waist seem even smaller, even uglier.  
  
He didn't have Frerin’s golden hair or Dís’ wide hips and pretty face, and Thorin knew that any courting offers made to him was in light of him being a prince, one day perhaps even king, and not because anyone really wanted him. So he did not accept any of them.  
  
Years and years later when Thorin found the first strands of silver in his hair he foolishly thought that maybe this would help, that this would make him more desirable, but even though a few more strands appeared his hair remained stubbornly dark and dull and refused to turn the rich silver that his grandfather’s and father’s hair and beard had been.  
  
That was fine. It was not important anyway, Thorin told himself. Looks were not as important as being a good king. He did not need a spouse to care for when he had a kingdom.  
  
-  
  
The only physical attribute Thorin had ever gotten sincere compliments for was his eyes; mixed in with exaggerated compliments comparing them to sapphires and every other blue gem in existence, but regardless, he wasn’t that surprised when Bilbo told him that he found his eyes pretty that night in Lake-town; after the Hobbit had imbibed a fairly impressive quantity of ale.  
  
Bilbo was clearly inebriated and was likely trying to think of something nice to say, Thorin’s eyes were obviously the first, perhaps only thing, he could think of.  
  
Ever since Thorin had apologised on top of the Carrock their burglar had made several overtures of friendship that Thorin had tried his best to answer in kind.  
  
He had judged Bilbo poorly at the start of the journey, something that had become all that more clear after he’d helped them all escape first the Spiders and then from the Elven dungeons, but it was still hard to return Bilbo’s friendship.  
  
Somewhere between seeing their burglar about to be torn into pieces by Trolls and the smile Bilbo had given him in the Elven dungeons as he’d appeared out of thin air to dangle the keys to the cells in front of Thorin’s amazed eyes, Thorin had done something as foolish as to fall in love.  
  
Bilbo was perhaps not conventionally beautiful like Dori, but he was definitely not something to scoff at with his honey brown curls and small but shapely body. The lack of a beard was a little strange, but it was more exotic than anything else. And even if Bilbo had looked like Thorin he would have been sought after for his skills at cooking alone. And he was… Thorin did not have the words to describe the feelings that filled his chest when he thought about Bilbo’s bravery and steadfastness. He owed them nothing, but he was prepared to risk everything to help them.  
  
Thorin was of course very much aware that his feelings would not be returned, so when Bilbo grinned up at him after complimenting his eyes and then proceeded to rest his hands on Thorin’s arms, stand on his tip-toes and press a rather sloppy kiss to the corner of Thorin’s mouth, the Dwarf was more than a little shocked.  
  
Bilbo had not seemed the type to accept or make a proposition for a friendly romp, something Thorin had carefully _not_ tested by offering, because if Bilbo did accept he wasn’t sure if that would make things better or just that much worse. But now that it was offered to him Thorin was suddenly very sure that it would indeed be worse.  
  
He couldn’t pretend that Bilbo was just any random body in the dark, but to acknowledge that he thought of Bilbo as more than a friend would likely make the Hobbit uncomfortable and destroy what tentative rapport they had managed to craft. And either way, eventually he would also need to watch Bilbo leave for his own home, knowing exactly what the touch of Bilbo’s hands on his body had felt.  
  
No, better to write this off as a drunken mistake. It would not be the first time he'd had to deal with one of those, and the awkwardness tended to fade quickly once Thorin had made it clear that he understood that the other part had been too intoxicated to think clearly.  
  
Thorin gently pressed on Bilbo’s shoulders and turned his own head; preventing what would otherwise have been a kiss to the centre of his mouth.  
  
“Bilbo, no, this is not a-.”  
  
Bilbo immediately pulled his hands away from Thorin’s arms and took a, somewhat wobbly, step backwards.  
  
“-good idea,” Thorin finished.  
  
The abruptness of Bilbo’s withdrawal caught Dwalin’s attention and he looked at Thorin and raised an eyebrow. It did not seem as if he, or anyone else, had seen what had happened before Bilbo stepped away and Thorin shook his head minutely before turning his attention back to the Hobbit.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Bilbo said and bit down on his bottom lip; white teeth on pink skin. “I thought-“  
  
“No need for that,” Thorin promised and nodded at him. “Perhaps you could try your luck with Bofur or Nori instead.” They were not likely to deny him, and yes, it would hurt to see them leave together, but less so than having even a small part of Bilbo and then losing him would.

“But I don’t want _them_ ,” Bilbo said and glanced up at him. His hazel eyes widened slightly. “Oh. I- I’m- I better go. Sorry. I didn’t mean- Yes, I’ll just-.”  
  
Bilbo took another step backwards as Thorin tried to make sense of what had just happened.  
  
Bilbo didn’t want Bofur and Nori; both very lovely in their own ways, but he’d approached _him_. Was it possible that Hobbits… but no. The Hobbits that they’d seen as they made their way out of the Shire had all been plump and delightfully rounded. Very few had been dark of hair, and in comparison even Thorin’s features must seem much too harsh to be pleasant. There was no reason for Bilbo to want Thorin. Unless...  
  
Thorin had to be the choice that seemed less strange. Kíli’s features was admittedly more delicate than his own, but the boy was young still and it was sure to change. Even if it didn’t… Kíli was skilled at both blade and bow, as well as a talented jeweller. And he was friendly and well-liked. He would be all right.  
  
But he was likely too young to be of interest to their burglar. Yes. That had to be it. Kíli was too young and Bilbo was not drawn to Dwarven good looks otherwise he would surely have gone to Bofur. They’d had appeared to be friends from the moment Bofur had apologised about scaring Bilbo into fainting, and were often to be found in each other’s company, smiling and laughing together.  
But if he didn't want a Dwarf...  
  
As Bilbo turned and hastily trotted out of the room they’d all been gathered in Thorin followed, exchanging another quick look with Dwalin before crossing the doorway. He frowned when his friend grinned at him.  
  
Dwalin was not one to be hurtful, so either he’d realised that Thorin wanted their burglar (but not the part about how he wanted even more than a few sweaty moments in the dark) and thought he was going to do something about it, or he was more than a little drunk himself. He always tended to find the world incredibly amusing after imbibing. Either way, it did not matter at the moment.  
  
In the much darker corridor leading from the brightly lit dining hall Thorin saw Bilbo just as he disappeared behind the corner. The Dwarf let the door fall shut behind him and strode towards the bend in the hallway. They had been given bedchambers on the upper floor, and that was where Bilbo appeared to be heading.  
  
Despite Thorin’s longer legs Bilbo had a head start and as Thorin climbed the last step it was to the sight of a door closing. He’d not wanted to call out while they were near the others, in case it would be embarrassing to Bilbo, and he made sure to knock lightly on the door, instead of banging on it as his heart was banging in his chest.  
  
There was no answer.  
  
“May I talk to you?” Thorin asked, again getting only silence in return.  
  
He thought about going back down to the others again, but it did not sit right with him to allow Bilbo to think himself unwanted as that could not be further from the truth. The best cause of action would be to convince him that under other circumstances Thorin would not been opposed a mutually beneficial arrangement, but as he was the leader on a quest of utmost importance he could not allow himself any distractions.  
  
It was partially true, and partially one of the biggest lies Thorin had ever considered attempting.

Gently, Thorin pushed at the door and it slid open.  
  
“You misunderstood before.”  
  
“No, no,” Bilbo protested from his curled up position on one of the beds. He lifted his head and glared at Thorin. “No, thank you. I got the message quite clearly. I won’t bother you again so I’ll thank you for doing me the same favour.” Bilbo’s arms tightened around his knees and he curled in a little further on himself. “I do not need you to try and let me down gently.” The Hobbit snorted. “I think I would prefer if you went back to being rude.”  
  
Bilbo’s speak was ever so slightly slurred, but not enough that Thorin really noticed, occupied as he was with trying to remember what he’d come there to say while at the same time scrambling to understand what Bilbo was telling him.  
  
“It’s not that I do not want you-“ Thorin began, but that was as far as he got.  
  
“Really?” Bilbo asked, his eyes wide again, but this time with equal part hope and surprised pleasure. He uncurled and instead twisted his legs beneath himself to sit cross-legged on the bed. “You want me?”  
  
“Yes,” Thorin replied, on reflex more than anything else. He was not accustomed to lying to those he cared about, especially in reply to direct questions. “But-“  
  
“You want me,” Bilbo repeated and slid off the bed at the same time a brilliant smile slid across his face. “Should I not have kissed you in front of the others? I thought, since you even bathe in front of each other that it would be fine, but-“  
  
“Bilbo-“  
  
“- if I’ve learnt something by now it’s to never think I’ve got you figured out. You, and Dwarfs. And since you’re a Dwarf I guess -“  
  
“Bilbo.”  
  
“Yes?” Bilbo blinked up at him, hazel eyes smiling as much as his pretty, pink lips did. “Would you please kiss me? Now that I’ve properly asked? And we’re alone?”  
  
“I-“ Thorin licked his lips, and he didn’t miss that Bilbo’s eyes snapped to the small movement before going the slightest bit darker.  
  
“I very much want to kiss you,” Bilbo informed him and his hands were back on Thorin’s arms, and then suddenly Thorin’s hands had fitted themselves to Bilbo’s waist and as Bilbo stretched up and his eyes fluttered closed Thorin- Thorin gave in.

 _Bilbo_ wanted him. Bilbo _wanted_ him. Bilbo wanted _him_. It was so much more than he could be asked to resist. And since it wouldn’t hurt anyone other than himself, he decided not to even regret it. The regret would come later anyway, so why waste what he had right then by worrying about it.  
  
-  
  
The regret did not come that night. And not even the next morning, because as their eyes met over the breakfast table Bilbo did not seem upset that Thorin had stolen kisses from him. Instead his hazel eyes shone brightly, and the smile he gave Thorin was somewhat more shy than the other night, but unquestionably pleased.  
  
It had not gone beyond kissing even though Bilbo had not seemed inclined to stop Thorin if he would have pressed for more. No, indeed not, because it had in fact been Thorin who had needed to slow Bilbo’s hands as they plucked at buttons and laces.  
  
Thorin would admit to being weak and greedy, but he would not allow anything to progress beyond a few caresses and their lips meeting if Bilbo was not in his right mind, no matter how sincere he seemed. The Hobbit had drunk more than his share of ale, and no matter how stirring the feeling of small hands moving over his clothes was, and how much he wanted to touch Bilbo in turn Thorin had forced himself to only return Bilbo’s kisses before telling him that _if_ he remembered this in the morning they could talk more about what he wanted. That way he gave Bilbo the option to pretend that he did not remember, and that would be that.  
  
After taking one last kiss Thorin had then nudged Bilbo towards the bed, bidding him a good night.  
  
He’d then immediately gone to the chamber he shared with Dwalin and Balin and unlaced his britches with hands that were not entirely steady and proceeded to tug himself off while he had Bilbo’s taste on his lips.  
  
Bilbo's room had been shared with Bofur, Bifur and Bombur and it was with no small amount of relief Thorin learnt that Bofur had fallen asleep beneath a bench in the dining hall, and had never even made it up the stairs until late morning, just shortly before the others prepared to go down to breakfast.  
  
Even if Bilbo had claimed to want him and not Bofur or Nori, they had made no promises and if Bilbo had been as stirred as he had been from their kisses then perhaps Bofur would do after all, even if he, for some reason, wasn’t Bilbo’s first choice.  
  
The thought that none other than himself was indeed Bilbo’s first choice was more than enough to bring a smile to Thorin’s lips, and in return Bilbo’s own smile widened into a grin.  
  
This time others than just Dwalin noticed their exchange but no questions were asked, and no teasing comments were made, for which Thorin was grateful. Kíli seemed on the verge of saying something but his brother put a stop to it, whispering something in his ear and then nodding at Thorin with a small smile.  
  
Fíli was a good lad, and after he’d promised to look out for his brother, and Óin had agreed that the wound on Kíli’s thigh seemed to have improved much even during the short time they’d stayed in the Mannish town, Thorin agreed to let Kíli continue the quest with them.  
  
It had not been an easy decision to let his nephews join the quest in the first place, and even though Thorin wanted to order them both to stay with the Men where it would be safe, he could not treat them any differently than any other member of his company. It would bring all three of them dishonour.  
  
The urge to lock Bilbo up in a room and forbid him from going anywhere near even the very possibility of a Dragon was also strong, almost overwhelming, but Thorin couldn’t allow himself to do that. Reclaiming Erebor was bigger than any personal wants or desires he could permit himself, and they would need their burglar.  
  
Not to mention that Bilbo would very likely prove himself to be contrary and never forgive Thorin for trying to protect him from the beast that once had caused him to faint just from hearing its description. But that would perhaps be something he could live with. If Bilbo hated him, that meant he was alive to do so.  
  
But Thorin could _not_ let his people down. He could not be selfish. Not now. Especially not now. However that did not stop him from taking Bilbo’s hand that night and leading him away from the rest of the company; behind a boulder that shielded them from view.  
  
It did not stop him kissing Bilbo again, nor from deepening the kiss when Bilbo moaned instead of pulling away. And when Bilbo fisted his hands in Thorin’s clothes instead of pushing him away Thorin allowed himself to be selfish for a little while.  
  
The next day it would be Durin’s Day, and after that only Mahal knew what would happen. In light of that Thorin didn’t feel too guilty as he ran his hands gently down Bilbo’s sides and dared to slip one inside the coat that the Men had gifted the Hobbit. A blue coat. Durin blue. Surely that meant something.  
  
It did not have the pretty buttons Bilbo’s other coat had had, but instead it was but a moment’s work to undo the belt holding it shut. Another to let his hands slide beneath cloth and brush over soft skin.  
  
Amazingly, it did seem as if Bilbo truly wanted him because his fingers were just as eager to relieve Thorin of his clothes, and his eyes were bright and eager even though it was much too light outside for him to be imagining that it was someone else he was undressing.  
  
And he kept saying things.  
  
“Your hands,” Bilbo moaned and tugged at the buckle of Thorin’s belt with renewed fervour. “They already feel so good and you’re hardly touching me. That means please, touch me more,” he added when Thorin hesitated. “But could you undo this blasted thing first?”  
  
They ran into similar trouble when it came to the rest of Thorin’s armour, and at Bilbo’s insistence Thorin undid straps and buckles as Bilbo watched him with hungry eyes and occasionally reached out to stroke and touch and pet.  
  
The urge to cover himself lessened the more Bilbo touched him, but it came back in full force when Bilbo took a small step back.

“Gorgeous,” Bilbo whispered, and Thorin would have protested if not for the way Bilbo hurriedly started to shed his own clothing and the protest flew away from Thorin’s mind before it had properly landed.  
  
Seeing as Durin’s day was so close there was no moon to speak of in the sky, but the night was clear and the stars bright, and Thorin’s eyes explored Bilbo’s body as much as his hands did, taking in every detail. They started out with Bilbo on top of Thorin, but he complained about being cold, and when Thorin carefully rolled them over the Hobbit did not seem upset about being effectively trapped beneath him.  
  
They had to stay quiet, and there was little finesse or grace in coupling on the ground covered only with Thorin’s cloak, but that mattered little compared to having Bilbo’s mouth open beneath his in a silent cry as he reached his peak and spilled wet and warm between them. When Thorin tried to move away and give him space, small hands twined in his hair and pulled him in for more kisses.  
  
“I want to watch you,” Bilbo murmured against his lips. “And I want to touch you.”  
  
Not knowing what else to do Thorin kissed him again, and kept kissing him even as the small hands untangled from his hair and slid down his shoulders, chest and waist, then between their bodies to wrap around his cock.  
  
At that point Thorin had to pull away to take in huge gulps of cold air to try and combat his spine’s attempts to melt.  
  
“I almost can’t get my hand around you,” Bilbo remarked and shivered beneath him. “Oh my.”  
  
He did not sound as if the thought was off-putting. Nothing that Thorin did, nothing that he was, seemed to bother Bilbo, and while Thorin couldn’t understand it – because even if Bilbo did not judge appearance the same way Dwarfs did, Thorin was impossible to mistake for a Hobbit- he was not about to complain.  
  
And he had changed his mind. However long he could have this, it would be worth it. Worth all the regrets and pain that would come later.  
  
It was with that thought, and with Bilbo murmuring pretty nonsense in his ear as he petted and stroked and rubbed, that Thorin gave in to the pleasure and tumbled over the edge.  
  
When he came back to himself Bilbo was smiling up at him, and when Thorin closed the distance between them for more kisses he not only did not protest, he went willingly even though his body’s desires must have been sated.  
  
Or perhaps not.  
  
When Thorin realised that there was something hot and firm poking him in the belly he pulled back and looked down at Bilbo.  
  
“It’s been a while,” the Hobbit defended himself. “And you’re so lovely. Not to mention very much pressed against me. And there is a lot of you to-”  
  
“Would you like for me to take you in my mouth?” Thorin asked. He was fairly good at it, if he was to believe what others had told him.  
  
Bilbo’s eyes grew round, and he made a small noise that was more of a whimper than anything else. But it had not been a protesting noise.  
  
Slowly, to give Bilbo time to stop him, Thorin slid down the Hobbit’s body, pressing kisses to skin as he went. Right before he was about to taste Bilbo the protest did come.  
  
“But- I’m _dirty_?”  
  
Thorin looked at Bilbo’s hard length, slick with his seed as well as some of Thorin’s, and holding Bilbo’s eyes he licked a wet stripe up the underside of it.  
  
Bilbo’s head fell back against the ground. “Which is apparently not a problem. Right. Who am I to protest.”  
  
It did not take much to make Bilbo spend a second time, he really must have gone without for quite some time to be so sensitive, but regardless Thorin felt very pleased with himself as he stretched out next to the Hobbit who was still shivering slightly with the aftershocks of his climax.  
  
When Bilbo tried to kiss him Thorin kept his mouth closed which prompted a confused whine from the Hobbit.  
  
“You might not enjoy the taste,” Thorin explained and Bilbo huffed.  
  
“Never mind about that. Now kiss me properly.”  
  
Thorin snorted. “’Dirty’ is no longer a problem I take it?”  
  
“It stopped being a problem when most of my body turned into Hobbit jam. Kiss me, please.”  
  
And Thorin could not deny a question as pretty as that.  
  
-  
  
When the regrets came, they came even quicker than Thorin imagined, and of course he could only blame himself. The things he said to Bilbo as the gold sickness wriggled through his thoughts were unforgivable. The things he’d done even more so.  
  
As Azog’s mace struck him, the pain chased away all other forms of madness and Thorin succumbed to the darkness knowing that he had never deserved it more.  
  
-  
  
He had not expected to wake again, but wake he did. And to a sight most unexpected.  
  
There was a fairly widespread belief amongst Dwarfs that as you lay dying you were granted one wish, in exchange for your last breath, but Thorin groggily realised that something about that did not make sense because while it was indeed Bilbo’s head resting on Bilbo’s folded arms on the cot Thorin was lying on, Thorin was still breathing.  
  
He knew that he was breathing because everything hurt each time he drew air into his lungs. But pain was something he could understand, even be thankful for as it would continue to keep the gold sickness away, but he could _not_ understand Bilbo’s presence at his side.  
  
To start it must mean that they’d won the battle, even though it had seemed impossible. But that did not explain why Bilbo would seek him out after Thorin had threaten to banish him, even kill him. After holding a blade against the thin, pale skin of his neck.  
  
The memory made Thorin want to rush back to the accursed Elven forest and jump willingly into the equally cursed river Bombur had fallen into. He’d drink deep to be sure never having to live with the knowledge that he’d put such a look of terror in Bilbo’s eyes. But he did not deserve to escape the memory in such a way. Nor could he run anywhere at the moment. Thorin rather thought that he would not even be able to hold his head up to accept a drink if someone were to offer him the river water right there and then.

“You’re awake,” a voice said from his left and as Thorin turned his head to chase the sound it caused a spear of pain to lodge itself in his chest. The world turned white and silent for a moment, and when the colour and sound came back, only then did Thorin notice that he could only see out of one eye. The other was covered by something, but Thorin could manage to lift his arm to find out what, or why.  
  
It was as if his limbs were made out of lead and as Thorin focused all his strength into lifting his right arm, it made another burst of pain burst in his chest and this time when the world faded into darkness he welcomed it.  
  
-  
  
For the next few days Thorin drifted in and out of unconsciousness. He was never alone when he woke up, but never again did he wake while Bilbo was at his side, and he eventually wrote the Hobbit’s presence off as a fevered dream. Thorin managed to ask Fíli if Bilbo had survived the battle, and the relief he felt when the answer was yes was enough to drain him so thoroughly that he was sleeping once again when Bilbo slipped into the tent and came to sit at his side, as he did every day, only leaving when Dwalin or Óin made him.  
  
-  
  
It was not until two days after Thorin had been awake for long enough that Óin had been able to explain just how many and how serious Thorin’s injuries were that Thorin woke with a somewhat clear head, to find a familiar mop of honey brown curls resting by his hip.  
  
This time Thorin’s comprehension of what Bilbo was doing there was even less than before. Not only should Bilbo by rights hate him for what he’d done, there was not a chance on Arda that he could still _want_ Thorin. The king remembered everything that Óin had told him, from the broken ribs and broken arm and leg, to the blade that had been swiped across his face and given him a scar while at the same time taking away the sight on his left eye. He knew that the broken leg was bad enough that he might never walk without a crutch again.

His scars might make him somewhat more attractive, but not enough to make up for the rest, and particularly not to Bilbo, a Hobbit whose response to being asked to pick a weapon had been to suggest a children’s game.  
  
But still, Bilbo was undeniably sleeping at his bedside again even though he should be headed west, on his way back home.

Taking a deep breath Thorin moved the arm that was not broken in two places and gently nudged Bilbo’s shoulder. The Hobbit came awake at once, blinking up at him with cloudy hazel eyes that quickly cleared as he noticed that Thorin was awake.  
  
“Thorin,” he breathed and ever so gently took Thorin’s left hand into his own smaller ones. The same hand that had held a sword at his neck.  
  
Thorin flinched, and then groaned as the movement made pain spark behind his eyes. But he did not allow the pain and darkness to claim him, not yet.  
  
“Bilbo-“ No that wasn’t right. “Master Baggins, I-“  
  
“Oh shush, you silly Dwarf,” Bilbo sighed and stroked his fingers over the back of Thorin’s hand. “Yes, you’re sorry. And I’m sorry too, so we make a right pair. But there’ll be time for that later. Right now all you need to do is to get better. And then we can yell at each other and call it a day.”  
  
Very little of what Bilbo just had said made sense, but Thorin greedily wanted to agree anyway as Bilbo’s voice had been tired but with a streak of something like fondness in it, and not the even the slightest hint of fear.  
  
But it was that very absence that made him clench his jaw and try to collect his thoughts, because what if the gold sickness came back? At the moment he would only be able to harm a fly if it happened to land in his mouth so that he might swallow it – and the fly would be just as likely to choke him as he made the attempt. But eventually he would be stronger, and what then?  
  
Except, there was no chance of Bilbo staying that long. Perhaps… perhaps he could allow himself to be greedy one last time.  
  
Very carefully Thorin curled his fingers and squeezed Bilbo’s hand.  
  
-  
  
The weeks passed and some of the bandages could be removed and Thorin was finally allowed to leave the bed for short periods at the time, and Bilbo did not leave. Not yet.  
  
But it was going to happen, Thorin was sure of it, and he grew more sure with every passing day. There was only so long you could remain based on any loyalty coming from a few kisses and a hasty tumble on what could have been their last night alive.  
  
Now that many of Thorin’s newly acquired scars were on display he kept catching Bilbo as he snuck glances at them; quick furtive glances, before looking away again.  
  
At times, when he was almost sleeping but not quite, Thorin felt the warmth of a hand hovering over the scars on his shoulder, his face, over the bandages on his chest. But never touching him, always hesitant.

When Thorin tried to invite Bilbo to share his bed for more than just sleeping the Hobbit looked at him as if he’s insane and claimed that Thorin was clearly not well enough yet, even though Thorin knew that was not the truth.  
  
He had a perfectly usable hand, and he’d been able to take small walks aided by a crutch for several days now without instantly falling asleep as soon as he returned to bed. And it had been a long time since that night on the mountainside, and Bilbo was not the one who’s been lying insensible in a bed for most of it.  
  
If there had not been anyone else he must be aching for it. As desperate as he’d been on the one night they’d shared. But perhaps not desperate enough to accept this changed version of the Dwarf he’d tumbled. Or perhaps there had been others. Either way...

Convinced that he had found the truth, that Bilbo simply did not find him attractive anymore, which, considering that he was never supposed to find him desirable in the first place should not feel like such a crushing disappointment, Thorin took it upon himself to release Bilbo from any misplaced guilt or sense of obligations.  
  
-  
  
"You should go back to the Shire.”  
  
"What?" Bilbo asked and blinked down at him.  
  
"There is no reason for you to stay. You don't _need_ to stay,” Thorin added, to clarify that if Bilbo thought a reason existed then he was mistaken.   
  
"Don't you want me to stay?"  
  
"You don't need to stay," Thorin repeated, not being able to lie. Not about something like this.

Bilbo crossed his arms. "Tell me that you want me to leave," he demanded.

It was a hard thing to accept, but the truth was that Bilbo _should_ leave. It was what was best for him. And Thorin wanted that. He wanted Bilbo to be happy, so when the words came they were not technically part of a lie.

"I want you to leave."

He’d expected relief, not the stricken look he did receive.

"When you woke up, you wanted me to stay. You said- you were- what's changed?" Bilbo asked, his arms hugging himself tighter.

Thorin had no memory of saying such things, but it must have been fever that loosened his tongue and then stole the memory away. That must have been why Bilbo stayed, the pathetic pleas of a cripple that he once might have cared for. The same kindness and stubbornness that had made him stay with the company even after it had been entirely clear that he was risking his life doing so.  
  
'I've learnt to be less selfish', was the response Thorin wanted to give to Bilbo’s question. But it was not what he ended up saying. “It's better if you leave."  
  
Bilbo was silent for a while that was not terribly long, but still felt like an eternity.  
  
"Better for who?” he said finally. “Because I want to stay."

Thorin snorted and Bilbo's eyes narrowed in response.

" _Why_  do you want me to go?" he asked, his eyes studying Thorin intently as the Dwarf fumbled for the right words only to find that there weren’t any.  
  
“Because I know you can’t truly wish to stay,” Thorin said tiredly. “And I wish for you to leave before you remember that you should hate me. You’ve promised me nothing that I remember and if you have any other vows you feel you must keep I release you from them. I do not know what I said to you but-”  
  
“You told me that you loved me.” Bilbo’s voice was calm, but not entirely steady. “Tell me that you don’t, and I will go.”  
  
Thorin tried. He really did. But the words would not come. “You must go. There would be no life here for you. The one you might have wanted was not a scarred cripple and-“  
  
“How dare you,” Bilbo hissed. “They are  _beautiful_. I know you don't like them, your scars, that’s plain enough, but they're beautiful to me."

"You find them ugly," Thorin protested, his chest aching as much from the cruel, sweet lies Bilbo just told him as from his wounds.

"I do _not_ ,” Bilbo denied. “They're beautiful because they mean you're alive. That you're strong. That- that you're still here with me. And you’re not a cripple. You’re injured. That’s entirely different. But even if-”  
  
“I may never walk again,” Thorin pointed out and Bilbo huffed.  
  
“You’re walking already, that you need a little help to do so is of little consequence.”

When Bilbo touched him Thorin almost flinched away, because he wanted to remember Bilbo touching him with desire, not revulsion.  
  
The Hobbit gently traced the skin surrounding the scar forming on Thorin’s face, his fingers stopping just below his lower eyelid. Nothing had hidden the damaged eye for the last few days as Óin decided it would benefit the healing process more to allow the eye to remain uncovered.  
  
Not sure how exactly the wound looked Thorin was nonetheless sure that it could not be a pretty sight. But you’d not know it from the way Bilbo touched him.  
  
“You are still the most beautiful being I have ever seen,” Bilbo murmured. “Inside and out. And if you’re deranged enough to love me then someone will have to _drag_ me away from here, because I love you too. And even if someone did do that I’d just come right back.”  
  
When the next touch came Thorin first thought it to be hesitant, but as he looked into Bilbo’s eyes he realised that it was only hesitant due to not wanting to cause hurt.  
  
Most of the carefulness; as Bilbo lightly trailed his fingers down Thorin's side, and then back up again to rest his hand over Thorin's heart, was something else entirely, something a lot closer to reverence.  
  
“You are blind,” Thorin mumbled. “I have lost an eye but somehow you are the blind one.”

Bilbo sniffed and blinked rapidly a few times. "At least I'm not an dolt. Ask me to stay."  
  
"Stay," Thorin said, voice barely higher than a whisper. And when a wobbly smile touched Bilbo's lips Thorin's heart leapt.

**Author's Note:**

> "Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it." – Confucius
> 
> I’m unsure if Thorin is OOC or not. I can totally see him accepting that he’s ugly and then being all stoic about it, I really can. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t screw it up anyway.
> 
> Comments make the world a better place, so feel free to tell me what you think.


End file.
